


alien fruit

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alien Planet, Aphrodisiacs, Conversations, Cousy In Space, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Daisy and Coulson finally catch a break in space. Problem is, their hosts assume a lot of things about their relationship.





	alien fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts).



There is some sweet tune playing next door, like this planet version of Bossa Nova, Coulson concludes, wishing he could see the musicians, playing no doubt for their benefit - or more specifically for Daisy’s benefit. As for the view... what was that Kerouac line? Unreal moon shining on an unreal sea? Coulson never finished that book though he doubts the author was talking about an alien planet and it's green-orange sea, its bright pink sand. But after all these months fighting for their lives on hostile, strange planets, he can’t say he’s not pleased by this more relaxed setting than they are used to, and a reverential treatment, instead animosity and prejudice.

A part of Daisy is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. They’ve been told their ship back to Earth would be ready by tomorrow, and they are to be the planet’s guests and Daisy feels like she is being treated like royalty, the first place in the whole galaxy where her Inhumanity has not been a disadvantage for her and Coulson when it came to finding allies. The awkward business of the dinner aside, everything has been lucky breaks since they arrived on the planet’s shores. And okay, maybe Daisy can let go of her shoe-dropping anxiety for a moment, seeing Coulson so… _delighted_ with everything here, the baths, the clothes they’ve been given, the music played in their honor, the politeness of the authorities, the kind way they spoke of Daisy’s lineage, the soft cushions they are sitting on. And he is right about it. She is just too used to looking over her shoulder for the last six months. Live a little, she tells herself.

“Sorry about the food,” she says to Coulson, smiling.

“It’s okay, they must have assumed-”

“Yeah.”

They look away, embarrassed for a moment. He and Daisy have never had any problem talking about sex before - hell, he remembers her inquiring about his sexual history two days after they met - so why should it matter that the people preparing their accommodations thought they were a couple, a sexually active one? Perhaps it made sense, since Daisy is both her people’s representative _and_ a warrior known across the galaxy for her strength. What else would they assume Coulson was to her, since she didn’t seem to need him otherwise?

Daisy tugs at the clothes they borrowed from their hosts. The fabric is soft but she can’t help but noticing it doesn’t feel like anything they have on Earth, and it’s such a little thing but it makes her homesick somehow. She misses her flannel shirts and her cotton tops and her jeans and leather jackets. They have been able to find human clothes that fitted them after escaping prison, but still, they weren’t her clothes.

“It’s nice of them, though,” she says, glancing at the table, every spot of it covered in food with bright, luxurious colors and smells she’s never known before. “This looks like quite a feast.”

“This is a diplomatic port, you’re an ambassador, kind of. They have to treat you well.”

“It’s a bit surreal, that they think I’m an ambassador for Inhumans. Hell, you have more experience on speaking on behalf of our species than I do,” she points out.

“You’ve been making the best of cases for Inhumans ever since you transformed,” Coulson tells her.

She gives him a shy smile. “Thanks.”

He shakes his head nonchalantly, like it’s so obvious he believes what he is saying. Well, she knows he believes what he is saying. Daisy tugs at the sleeves of her dress again, even though it fits her perfectly. The way the diplomats in this planet are treating her, she feels like a fake. She thinks about her mother and how Jiaying would have been perfect for this role, wise and elegant and poised, she should have visited other planets representing the Inhumans on Earth.

Coulson puts a couple of pieces of food on his plate, choosing the ones that look the most delicious to him. He catches Daisy looking at him in a funny, surprised way. _Right_. This food is supposed to...

“Sorry. Does it bother you?” he asks. He admits as nice as all the attention they have received from the authorities today was, he is a bit hungry and in need of rest.

“What? No.” Daisy shakes her head, gesturing for him to go on and try the food.

He takes a bit of something he assumes are vegetables, though the taste is new to him. It’s a bit garlicky, pungent, clearly something meant to energize the eater. He also tastes the drink they’ve poured into tall, pink and silver glasses. He had guessed it would be like wine, but it’s more like cider. Except it’s not like cider at all. He senses Daisy watching his movements with some curiosity.

“Does that stuff work, anyway?” she asks.

“Aphrodisiac food?”

Daisy gives him a little awkward shrug. 

“Yeah. I’ve never really… well, I had a boyfriend who said a bottle of beer was the best aphrodisiac.”

Coulson blinks. “Am I right to guess this would be Mister Lydon?”

Daisy nods.

Coulson grits his teeth for a moment, glad to have left the man stranded in Hong Kong when he had the chance.

Then he remembers Daisy asked him a question.

“Do these things work? Food can’t make you want to have sex if you don’t want to have sex.”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “I know that, Coulson.”

He tries to recall his own experiences.

“They work in the sense it’s something for couples to do together. It’s fun and a bit silly, and nice food makes you feel good,” he tells Daisy. “Good food, good conversation, a relaxed mood, that’s what works. The food is normally just an excuse.”

Coulson gets some sort of dreamy expression in his face. Just how many nights of eating aphrodisiacs has he spent with lovers? He can seem such a cad sometimes. Not in a bad way, Daisy would never think it’s sleazy or gross. She thinks it’s actually funny, how he’s supposed to be this very proper government agent, but then...

“You enjoy this kind of stuff, uh?” Daisy teases.

“Well, I love food and I love…”

A pause.

“Sex?” 

“Yeah.”

There’s another pause. He wonders why he’s bothered by saying the word itself in front of Daisy.

She fidgets with a couple of items on the plate in front of her. They look like fruit. Maybe.

“My guess is that it’s food that was good for fertility, right? So it went hand in hand with sex, and the association stuck, even if we have developed other ways of helping us with the having babies problem.”

Coulson gives her an admiring look.

“You should have been an anthropologist,” he tells her.

Her brain works fast, always ready to protect her from feeling stuff when someone - especially Coulson - compliments her.

“And give up my prestigious PhD in Dropping Out of High School from the University of Living in My Van? No way,” she jokes.

He lets her have her joke, but he still thinks it’s sad. Daisy should have been able to be so many great things. And yet it’s exactly because she was never given the chance that she became Daisy, she became Skye even before that.

They stay in silence for a bit; Daisy knows Coulson is thinking something deep and troubling, because he is frowning even as he eats. She tries to hear the humming of the ocean under the songs playing in the other room, and she sits back, hands on the floor, staring at the changing colors of the waves. Eventually she looks at Coulson again.

“You have different food on your side of the table. Why don’t I have that?” she asks, pointing at a solid bar of… something. Something with marbled green and yellow patterns into it.

“Maybe because I’m a man?” Coulson says. “Maybe they serve different foods depending on-”

“Oh, so gender essentialism is not just an Earth thing? _Great_.”

Coulson smiles at how angry she gets at the notion, and it angers him in turn.

“Maybe it’s not that,” he hopes. “They seem to know a lot about Inhumans, maybe they served you food that’s particularly good for your people, or that Inhumans out here in space enjoy eating.”

Daisy seems to think about that. Coulson knows she feels ambivalent about getting so much knowledge about where Inhumans come from, here, from aliens. Since the Kree basically discarded them on Earth people like Daisy have had to make up most of their own mythology about who they are, with no knowledge of how different strands of the species had developed on different planets - and even that self-taught mythology was something Daisy’s mother was supposed to pass on to her, and that education got cut tragically short.

She watches Coulson take a tentative bite out of the bar, like he’s not sure it’s not poisonous. Their health hadn’t been the great when they arrived on these shores and the diplomats here were great giving medical assistance, so they have all their data in their files now, and the aid showing them to the food - the one who very happily announced it was aphrodisiac and would help them have an “unforgettable” last night in space - assured them the chef had taken into account any allergies or incompatibilities between species.

“This is amazing,” Coulson finally says. His expression is of pure disbelief, like he has never had anything so good. And Daisy knows he has tried some good stuff in his day.

“What does it taste like?” she asks him.

“Like dark rich chocolate, but it’s not bitter.”

Daisy stands up and circles the table, sitting right next to Coulson.

“What? I want to try it too.”

Coulson hands her the not-quite-chocolate with a jokey, friendly curtsy. 

The texture is very much like chocolate, yes, except for the weird color. The people in this planet know about Earth and humans, it’s not impossible they have picked up some things.

He watches as Daisy’s expression transforms when she bites into the food. It’s pure joy. Coulson feels something good and comforting spread through his chest. She should have more moments like this, and less moments of having to kick some asshole’s ass just so that everyone lives. Coulson knows it comes with the territory - she is a superhero, after all, though he suspects she doesn’t hear that often enough - and he is glad that she’s fighting the good fight, but dammit, he gets this absurd yearning for a moment, because there should be more chocolate in her life. Or at least more weird alien chocolate-like stuff. The good stuff. That’s it. She should have more of the good stuff.

“Oh wow,” Daisy lets out.

Coulson looks happy to hear it, _vindicated_ , his face is so great right now that she wants to laugh.

“Right?”

Daisy nods.

“I was beginning to think this whole going to out space was overrated but hey, this chocolate might have been worth all our pains?”

Coulson narrows his eyes at her. She is not wrong. There have been a lot of pains in the journey here.

“Only might have,” he comments.

“You don’t know what kind of relationship I have with chocolate.”

He laughs. This is nice, Daisy thinks. And she almost didn’t allow herself to have it. She’s glad she decided to loosen up a bit. It’s a change from having to run away from three-headed monsters or having to figure out how to operate the spaceship they had just stolen in like three minutes or else. In their down time - all the bunks in merchant ships and uncomfortable seats in third class transporters and even that night those nights they managed to catch a break in a motel in that constantly-rainy planet that looked like someone had gotten high while watching _Blade Runner_ , even those few moments where she and Coulson hadn’t been stuck in life-or-death situations they had been too tired or hurt or worried to simply enjoy each other’s company. And not to be shallow but Daisy is pretty sure this is the best her BO has been in months, and that’s important too.

“I can see your point about aphrodisiac food being about good company and conversation,” she chats carelessly. “I meant-”

“It’s fine.” Coulson says with a relaxed smile. “I believe it’s also nice with friends.”

The words find something inside Daisy and turn it warm. Silly aphrodisiac stuff not, it’s nice just to talk like this.

Right now Coulson is running a simple calculation; how he has spent almost every waking moment these past six months in Daisy’s company. Other than back when he lived with - and tragically enjoyed too much hanging out with - his mother he is quite certain this is the largest amount of time he has spent with another being. True, most of their conversations usually revolved around what was the best way to stay alive on a given alien planet, but now, on the even of their return to Earth, Coulson feels a bit sad they didn’t get to do more sightseeing. That there weren’t more moments like this - simply being together marvelling at the wonders of the galaxy. Even if the wonders are just a few plates of exotic food.

“Wow, look at these,” she says, wiggling to get closer to the table.

Coulson mimics her, shifting until he is right next to her. He follows Daisy’s gaze among the obscene amount of food on the plates. He finds what has provoked the reaction. They are a bunch of small round fruits, resembling Earth’s cranberries but looking softer to the touch, and the color...

“That red color,” he says, fascinated as well. “It’s…”

“Sinful?” Daisy offers.

“I was going to say _otherworldly_. It shows that you were brought up by nuns.”

“Hey.”

She slaps his shoulder gently, with a laugh. Okay, let’s see if they taste sinful as well, Daisy thinks, more than a little bit curious after how delicious that chocolate was. She lets out a moan of pleasure when the taste of the berries reaches her brain.

The way Daisy is eating the fruit looks positively obscene from the outside, from where Coulson is watching, licking her fingers clean off the taste. He can smell the tangy fresh scent of the fruit all over Daisy. His mouth goes dry, when he’s pretty sure the opposite should happen, if his reaction was motivated by hunger.

They are a lot sweeter than they look, unthinkably sweet, and something else, she realizes, something both natural and luxurious, the kind of crap Coulson loves. Oh, he has to taste them, he has to-

“They are amazing, you have to try them,” Daisy says, lifting a few berries in her hand and reaching for his mouth.

Coulson’s body tenses up. He looks at her gesture with surprise, and maybe even fear. Daisy winces - she totally forgot herself. She forgot who Coulson is, what they are to each other. They are not a couple enjoying a sexy meal. They’re friends. They don’t feed each other seductively with their bare hands. They don’t feel each other aphrodisiacs to begin with. They share stuff like candy bars and red vines and grilled cheese. Not orgasm-inducing wild berries from another planet.

“Sorry,” she chuckles, blushing, beginning to move her hand away.

Coulson shifts closer yet, and stops her. He wants those berries. He wants those berries as held by Daisy’s hand.

She raises an eyebrow. “Uh?”

He licks his lips, while he thumbs the pulsepoint on Daisy’s wrist.

There’s some kind of challenge here, some “do you dare?”, and Daisy thinks “do _we_ dare?” and loosens the resistance in her arm, lets go as it were, turning the moment into Coulson’s choice.

He eats the two berries offered, the red liquid running down his throat with a sweet but unidentifiable taste, but that’s not the point. He keeps tugging at Daisy, then kisses her fingertips, licking the red-stained trace of sweetness off them, and then he swallows her index and ring fingers slowly, like it’s even a tastier treat - well, yes...

The way his tongue plays, pressing against the skin between her fingers, there is no doubt of the intention. But Daisy worries about the intention behind the intention. She wants to know if this good food and romantic alien music and an amazing view of a strange ocean, and just that.

“Is this stuff working?” she asks, tilting her head towards the plates of food besides them, because one minute Coulson is being Coulson, and the next he’s fellating her fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Daisy want to believe that’s Coulson being Coulson too.

She watches him swallow.

“Something else is working,” he replies in a low, growly voice that doesn’t sound quite like him.

“Something good or something bad? Like loneliness?”

“Something like…” Coulson pauses, choosing his words very carefully. “Loneliness for one particular person.”

He sounds very much like himself this time and Daisy gives him a little inviting smile. Everything pauses while he slides right next to her and leans to kiss her.

Wow, Daisy thinks, and it’s both a weird-wow and a good-wow. She is not too much into sexy stuff but she likes the idea of Coulson giving her back the taste of berries he took from her fingers just now. He’s a good kisser but he’s being too careful, though Daisy likes the way his hand quickly went to her back, and now he is applying relaxing caresses all along her spine as he kisses her. That feels good and safe. It feels very Coulson-ish, even the undercurrent of tenderness not many people would suspect he has. Being touched like this, Daisy feels the privilege of sharing a secret.

Coulson knows he’s being irresponsible here - and worse, that he is betraying some kind of promise or feeling, of which he had an intimation some time ago (when Daisy was dying in an operation table on Switzerland, or maybe that time he fumbled for some words to weather him through a friend’s accusation and the pain of a broken leg). But he he also knows he wants this more than he remembers wanting anything, than he remembers having the capacity to want. And he loves Daisy not just more, but _better_ than he had ever loved another person. That settles it.

She senses Coulson’s hesitation melt into some kind of resolution, feels his mouth grow bolder, and herself breathe with relief that for a moment he wants to take the lead. He does and suddenly she lying on the nice cushions, Coulson pressed against her, her legs around his waist. Daisy hears herself make these amazing sounds in the back of her throat.

Coulson pulls away a bit, but just and inch, Daisy’s breath hot on his face.

“You okay?” he asks, a way of asking permission. She has such pretty eyes, he thinks, distractedly, because they are huge now and so close and her nose is tickling his cheek and-

“I’m fine,” she tells him, bunching his clothes in her hand and pulling him down again, opening his mouth with her tongue.

She feels him grow hard against the curve of her hip, his eyes more tightly shut when he kisses, and his body more and more at Daisy’s mercy, like he knows it’s safe. Her hand travels to the back of his neck, fingers caressing his nape in circling, comforting motions because yeah, he’s safe with her.

He buries his face in the hollow of Daisy’s neck, drawing a long breath of her; her skin smelling the clean scent of the soap they found in their baths before dinner, when they were told to take their time and enjoy the preparations. They bathed in turns, a bit awkwardly with all these preparations and how it was assumed they were together, a bit awkwardly even after all these months of sharing bed and showers and blood and tears, and now Coulson feels feverish thinking of Daisy right next door to where he was resting, taking a bath in these nice-smelling bubbles. He didn’t think about it twice when it was his turn, and the tub was still warm from Daisy’s bath. He hadn’t thought about it twice, _oh my god_ he thinks, just in how much denial was he in? And yet he’s glad he didn’t think twice back then, because it allows him to be kissing Daisy now without thinking there is something dirty or wrong in their previous interactions, it allows him to kiss her almost innocently, without taint.

She grabs his wrists and turns them over, Coulson on his back, pinned to the soft floor full of cushions, Daisy straddling him. She kisses his neck, under his ear, until Coulson chuckles out of joy. Daisy moans at his reaction, sucking a momentarily-pink ring on the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Those berries really worked on me too,” she jokes, flushing.

“Daisy.”

His voice is pleading and small, he sounds like a little kid. 

“No, sorry,” she tells him honestly. “You know it’s not that.”

“I hope it’s not that.”

_Maybe we are more alike than I thought_ , Daisy wonders. Maybe he’s also waiting for the other shoe to drop - she knows she is, right now, because how can someone like Phil Coulson want her like this? Love her - she never doubted it. But want her? They have spent six months in outer space encountering all sorts of strange places and creatures, yet this is the strangest thing that’s happened to her yet. 

“This is hard for me,” he confesses, brushing hair out of her eyes, and Daisy wants to crack a nervous joke about how she knows it’s _hard_ for him, but she doesn’t. “I spent so long fighting the idea that this is _how_ I love you, that now I’m having trouble saying the words.”

He hasn’t exactly said the words, just indirectly now, but it makes Daisy smile anyway, because she knows it’s just out of shyness, not because he’s unavailable or he’s not sure of what he feels. The same way he would compare her to a car just to make Daisy feel better.

Coulson lifts his hands to her back, pulls her down to him again, kisses her when he can’t find the words, frustrated because she deserves better, in every sense, better than him. He thought he had made peace with having lost a hand but now that he is holding Daisy and realizing he still wishes he could feel her under those fingers with something other than artificial nerve endings it’s evident what a broken thing he is offering to her. For a moment he wishes he could offer her a younger him, with less bitterness and scars. But then the idea strikes him as completely wrong: a younger him wouldn’t have met Daisy yet, and Daisy deserves the kind of man knowing her has turned Coulson into, it was the pre-Daisy version that was incomplete, much more incomplete than a simple missing limb.

“Coulson…” she says. “Uh. Phil.”

Daisy surprises herself by how sexy she finds it, saying his first name while her body has him pressed against the floor, how intimate and new.

“I’m very happy this is happening,” she tells Coulson, getting the words out between kisses.

He smiles, a smile that curls his lips against Daisy’s mouth, a tactile smile.

“You are?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad.”

Suddenly there’s a strange silence - suddenly they can hear their mouths and bodies colliding, brushing against each other, caressing - and they realize the music ensemble next door has stopped playing. They look at each other, breathing heavily, until what they can hear is the loud ocean crashing against the beach.

Daisy sighs, sitting up and resting her hands, palm down, on Coulson’s chest.

“Maybe we should, uh, go to bed?”

“I thought that’s what we were doing here,” Coulson says, reaching up to land a kiss on her throat.

“No, I mean - don’t get this wrong, because I love you, but I don’t usually have sex on the first date.”

She knows it’s a stupid thing she has - it was born out of Catholic guilt at first, her desire to feel like a good, proper and _clean_ girl even when she knew she wasn’t any of those, then it became a way of protecting herself, of making sure the other person really cared for her and wasn’t just after sex. Now it’s just that she likes it, the prologue of it, waiting a bit. Which, with Coulson is absurd, because they have been friends for years, there is very little need to get to know each other. She wonders if he thinks it’s stupid.

He gives her a look of disbelief.

“You love me?”

Daisy raises her eyebrow. _Come on_. 

“I thought that was implied,” she says, fighting the way to look away.

Coulson shrugs.

“It was, but I like hearing it.”

She stares at him, and reaches to brush her thumb across his bottom lip, tenderly.

“You should get to hear it a lot.”

She bending her body to kiss him him again, long, but softer this time.

This hardly feels real, Coulson thinks, wondering if those berries were hallucinogenic instead of aphrodisiac. To have someone like Daisy say those words to him. No,not just someone like Daisy. Not just someone brave and smart and funny and powerful and far too beautiful and young for him. Daisy specifically. The same Daisy he has watched fight to rise against every shitty thing the world throws at her for years, and come the other way kinder, more wonderful. The same Daisy who has been through so many things with Coulson that he doesn’t care to remember a time when she wasn’t in his world. That, specifically, is the thing he’s finding hard to believe.

“Wait. Is this our first date?” he asks, full of wonder.

“If you want it to be?” she offers.

He moves them so he is on top of her again, but this time careful not to crowd her, only pressing the lightest weight on her. He kisses her, but lets the urgency of his desire wind down and rest at the bottom of his stomach for now. He kisses her with short, shallow kisses, like he is trying to taste sweet fruit again, like Daisy is infinitely familiar and precious. Exactly what she is.

Bless assuming alien diplomats and their hospitality, Daisy thinks. She might have never known kisses like this if they hadn’t put all that food between her and Coulson. The idea makes her endlessly sad, but she knows it’s true. She could have spent the rest of her life not knowing this. And as long as Coulson was by her side it would have been okay, she would have been more than lucky. But this? This is definitely better. She curls her fingers around Coulson’s wrist, brushing the tips against the soft layer of hair. His body is exciting - obviously! she thinks to herself, pleasantly surprised by seeing her closest friend in this new light - but it also provokes a sense of protectiveness, a tenderness in her. Sex only makes the abstract specific, since she’s always wanted to protect Coulson.

There’s a risk he might get lost kissing her again, lost in the feeling of her fingers caressing his forearm like this, but Coulson remembers her request. And it makes sense, for someone like Daisy, to want to take things slow, to want to _make sure_. It makes sense after what she’s been through, too. He grabs her shoulder and he pulls himself away from her.

“It’s okay, Daisy, I’m not in a hurry.”

She arches her body, pressing a kiss to Coulson’s mouth.

“But I want to go to bed with you tonight,” she assures him. “Just sleep. And- and _spoon_ , I’d like that. Maybe do some hand stuff.”

“I love hand stuff,” he declares, sounding both proud and innocent.

She laughs.

They take the rest of the berries back to their room.

 

 

**epilogue**

The day has been a bit hectic - what day isn’t? - and for the first time in months she and Coulson were on different missions, so it takes Daisy a moment to find him among the activity in the base.

They are walking in a hurry, in opposite directions - Coulson meeting Mack in the hanger, Daisy back from the field and towards the office - and they almost pass each other by, but Daisy stops him, fingers twisted into Coulson’s shirt in a moment, and in a moment the hallway is filled with their peculiar and still new sense of intimacy, the pull towards each other propriety and guidelines about PDA in the workplace force them to resist.

“I was looking for you,” Daisy says.

Coulson does that thing where he smiles with his eyes mostly.

“You were? I like hearing that.”

Admittedly Coulson’s _talking_ is the greatest threat to propriety and PDA guidelines, Daisy has discovered. She doesn’t exactly mind.

He watches her take something out of her backpack.

“Look what I’ve found among my things.”

She holds up a metal thermal container and opens the lid. Coulson looks inside: a bunch of tiny berry-like fruits of a deep, out-of-this-world red color.

He smiles, remembering that first night he spent with Daisy.

“It should probably be in a museum, right?” Daisy says. “Or have scientist study them.”

“Or…” he proposes, eyes all twinkly, the creases around them when he smiles one of Daisy’s favorite things in the universe. “We could eat them for dinner. Make a thing out of it. Buy more aphrodisiacs. You said you’d never done it.”

“Date night?”

“Unless you are needed to save the world again,” he says.

Daisy’s hand goes into his clothes again, grabbing the front of his shirt, slowly pulling him towards her.

“Last time they did work wonders on us…” she says, her mouth close to Coulson’s.

She is so close, he can feel her eyelashes touching his skin, and he can smell the soap they both on hers.

But just as her lips start brushing Coulson’s one SHIELD’s new recruits passes by them in the hallways, stomping to alert of his presence, clearing his throat. 

“Director. Agent Coulson,” he mutters as he goes, head down and quickening his pace to get the hell out of there.

Daisy and Coulson look at each other and chuckle noiselessly. They are very bad role models. She lets Coulson go, patting his chest.

“8.30, your bunk,” Daisy says. “I’ll bring the berries, you bring everything else.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He watches her walk away, enjoys watching her walk away, knowing she’ll find her way to him at the end of the day, he doesn’t even care Mack is going to roll his eyes at him for being late.


End file.
